


What Happens in Vegas Probably Won’t Stay in Vegas

by azure7539



Series: Azure's 007 Fest 2019 [16]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, 007 Fest 2019, Fluff, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Shotgun Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 22:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539
Summary: Silva is grateful. Probably.





	What Happens in Vegas Probably Won’t Stay in Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> for [10kiaoi](https://10kiaoi.tumblr.com/) because you gave me the idea for this + the location + a specific term mentioned. What an enabler :0

This wasn’t the first time Bond had been to Las Vegas. 

Mostly, he’d been here on official (or _unofficial_, depending on your point of view) business. He’d also been here to meet up with Leiter once or twice in between missions just for some lighthearted fun.

He had never been here for a _wedding_, though. 

Bond palmed the burner phone that he’d gotten earlier, mind flashing back to the message that he’d received out of nowhere from an unknown ID shortly right after having bought it, and climbed into the lift.

Said lift started moving before he even had the chance to punch in a number, and Bond suddenly realized two things: one, he shouldn’t be surprised (and he wasn’t, really), and two, he should’ve rethought the decision to come here much, _much _sooner.

He truly should’ve rethought _a lot_ of things in his life. Starting with the business of plunging in a knife that bit deeper in this case, as it would seem.

Oh, well.

(It’d been too cold, and he’d had more important things to take care of anyway.)

A distant chime refocused his attention, and by the time Bond stepped out onto the designated floor, he realized that the chances of this being coincidentally empty, as opposed to being entirely booked for the day, were slim to none.

He thought back on the two-item list he’d just made and forged on.

The architectural design of the building flowed naturally, and Bond followed it toward a set of double-door, all polished wood deep and rich in color and seemingly a little heavy. 

And he would’ve felt mildly uneasy if it hadn’t been for the faint rock music already blasting from the other side, and the needles of annoyance only fueled his motivation further as he pushed forth inside.

Just the interior of the chapel alone was plummeting Bond headfirst into a sense of déjà vu—tall columns leading up to a high ceiling with bright light filtering in from the windows up above and illuminating candles to the far sides of the rows of pews near the walls.

It was nothing and everything the little place on that abandoned island had and could’ve ever been.

The music eased to a quiet lull; the man in the light-colored suit at the end of the aisle turned toward him and shamelessly _grinned_, all gleaming teeth and perfect, ample charm. 

Bond felt a chill ran up his spine.

“James,” Silva purred, the low timbre of his voice magnifying and vibrating from within the confinement of this space. “You made it. Just in time, too.”

Bond’s eye twitched, a phantom itching in the soles of his feet that urged him to go on even as he stood rooted to his current spot.

“I should’ve finished you off in that chapel,” Bond said, very conscious of the irony of the situation. 

Silva tutted, his smile only widening that bit more, the bastard. “None of that now,” he replied and turned his body to face Bond completely. “This _is _your wedding.”

Bond arched an eyebrow at this. “My own supposed wedding,” he began with a drawl, “that _you _invited me to.”

“A shotgun wedding, as they say.” The man shrugged and lifted an arm upward in a flourishing move, palm open and entirely expecting with a confidence and one simmering fire in his eyes that was close to boggling Bond’s mind. “Come to me, _mi amor_.”

And Bond, against his better judgment, actually did.

* * *

_(In the ruined remains of the chapel of Skyfall, Silva had laid face down on the cold stone floor with a knife embedded squarely in the middle of his back, slivers of breath hissing from between his teeth._

_Bond had carried M past him, the weight of her body like dead lead eating into his bones, and every fiber of his being had screamed at him to finish this off._

_But then the desperation and betrayal that had all but consumed Silva’s green eyes, the sheer pain turned mania and all the looming questions of why why why that Bond himself had known far too well, had flashed like violent images in the back of Bond’s skull. _

_It’d stopped him, a mere breath away, from twisting the knife twice more into Silva’s chest just to hear the grimly satisfying crunch of breaking bones and tearing flesh._

_He’d known instantly that he’d made a mistake. He’d known that it’d be one of those moments that would probably haunt him for a long while for the rest of whatever remaining time that he’d still had, the cries of the ones who had had to perish in the bombing echoing in the crevices of his mind._

_He’d never claimed to be a hero.)_


End file.
